Because Ronald was also into women. And Shayla had been the target of his sexual pursuits for a few months now, since she’d been hired to work in the Maris office he had the most dealings with as a longshoreman boss.
Nobody working for me should have to deal with nasty, unprofessional innuendos and pressure to accept a date. My father might not have cared enough to protect our employees back when he was in my position, but I sure as fuck did.
I was here to give Gillen a friendly reminder to treat my people with respect. But this was a one-shot deal. If he wasn’t smart enough to take the hint, I’d ruin his fucking life.
His insistence on giving me this lap dance—a thinly veiled attempt to distract and gain some sort of leverage over me—wasn’t helping his case. If anything, it was only making me more annoyed.
I ran my eyes over the dancer’s fit physique. Cut abs and Adonis belt. Slightly rounded pecs and shoulders. Tanned skin and…
My eyes caught on his brown nipples as he teased them with his fingertips. They crinkled and tightened at his touch. For some reason, that got my attention. Did they remind me of a woman I’d been with? Possibly. Not that I could think of which woman that might be.
I imagined what they would feel like against my tongue. Whether I could make them tighter and harder by sucking on them.
My dick began to stir, and I quickly shifted in my seat.What the fuck? Allowing myself to compare him to sexy women I’d been with was a surefire way to lose this damned bet. And that wasn’t happening.
“What made you want to become a dancer?” I asked as disinterestedly as I could. Conversation about work was a guaranteed boner killer for everyone.
He peeled his shorts open further, exposing a surprisingly dull cotton jock. That certainly wasn’t going to turn me on. I’d seen a million of them over the years in various locker rooms and had never gotten hard for one. They reminded me of the grassy, sweaty smell of soccer practice from years ago.
He pushed the shorts down and shimmied out of them, turning to show me his bare ass, which I had to admit was impressive. Squats on the pole clearly worked for him.
“I like to move my body,” he said, backing up until his ass was swaying over my lap. “I like to touch myself.” He turned back to face me and climbed over me again, his knees on either side of my thighs.
Then he lowered his voice to a sultry whisper and leaned in to brush his lips against my ear. “I like to fuck.”
My eyes drifted closed. There was something about that word spoken in his voice that made my skin prickle. Maybe it was the music or the room. Maybe it was simply the idea of sex and all the skin on display.
“Fuck or be fucked?” I challenged. But it came out sounding rougher than usual.
He leaned further into me until his hands were down by his knees and his nose was brushing the skin of my neck. “Depends which one you’re into, baby. Do you want to hold me down and fuck my tight hole? Is that what you’re thinking about right now? How you’d force me to take it? Put me on my hands and knees for you? Maybe wrap one of your big hands around the back of my neck and teach me a little lesson?”
His voice was breathy, which made my heart pound harder and my own breaths more shallow.
“You seem to be begging for a lesson of some kind,” I said coolly.
The fact that he seemed to be getting under my skin annoyed me. But I couldn’t deny he was alluring in a certain kind of way. I could see why someone like Ronald would be into him. Into this.
The image of Ronald touching this beautiful man with his perpetually sweaty hands annoyed the fuck out of me.
The dancer continued, moving his body in a way that was hard to ignore. Sultry and languid as the music shifted to something slower. He straightened up so I was staring at those nipples again. They were close enough to lean over and taste, which of course I would never do.
I caught a whiff of his deodorant as he lifted his arms above my head on the wall and looked down at me. My eyes strayed to his armpit and the brown hair there.
He smelled good. I was half-inclined to ask him what products he used.
A tiny dark mole peeked out from the edge of the armpit hair, matching a somewhat lighter one above his lip. My stomach clenched.
No wonder he’d been hired here. He was undeniably, objectively sexy. Hiring him was a solid business decision for this place. How much did dancers get paid, anyway? Was profit sharing involved? There really should be, because the ROI of?—
I felt another tightening in my gut as the dancer’s eyelids fluttered closed and he mouthed a snippet of the lyrics.
“I’m so used to being used…”
Did those lyrics mean something to him, personally? Was he in a bad situation? Of course, I’d heard horror stories of people being taken advantage of in jobs like this. Usually those were women, but maybe the same held true for men in powerless situations.
Not that it mattered to me, obviously. None of us got to choose the situations we were born into, and we all had to make the best of the hands we were dealt. Besides, the man had admitted to enjoying being watched. Enjoying fucking, even.
I glanced down his body to the cotton jock, imagining what it would look like if the sex act he was miming right now was actually happening.
